


Shorts

by bunnybrook



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Alcoholism, Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 22:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4895266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnybrook/pseuds/bunnybrook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murdoc is a baby and thinks a lot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shorts

Murdoc is still wearing shorts from the night’s show, it wasn’t even anything official but dad had made him go anyways. He was caught chewing his fingernails and had gotten hit too hard, crying still as he went on stage to sing. It’s swollen now, his fingers keep trailing up to it and pressing down hard on the lump that’s formed, almost out of curiosity but also, only a bit, to punish himself for doing something so stupid.

Hannibal is still awake when dad finally gets them home, they’d walked almost a mile from the pub, Murdoc falling asleep as he walked. He felt awake now, unable to even close his eyes. His head throbbed. Hannibal scurries off into his room when dad opens the door, shutting the door before dad can say anything about him being up so late.

“Sebastian,” Murdoc says, sitting down at the kitchen table. He’s drunk. He drank too much. Hannibal was the one who taught Murdoc about that. Dad… Sebastian… Jacob.. he drinks too much and gets drunk.

“No,” dad says, before Murdoc even gets to ask for what he wanted.

What he wanted was this: Maybe a story or for him to help him get into bed. He’s not so old that it’s weird, Hannibal is eleven and he still asks sometimes. The difference is, he thinks, that dad likes Hannibal and hits Murdoc. He hits Hannibal too, not as much.

It’s quiet. Murdoc doesn’t like this and hums, thinking with as much bitterness as six year old can handle that he didn’t feel much like a real little boy and more like a puppet that dad controlled. Dad wasn’t a talented puppeteer, he was the kind who fumbled and forgot his lines.

Dad walked past Murdoc, brushing a hand through his hair and kissing his forehead with chapped, dry lips. Murdoc pressed a hand where he was kissed, wanting to feel that forever. He kicked his feet, waiting until dad’s door closed before smiling and finding his way to his own room, smallest in the house.

He sang softly to himself, a song he made up. There were no words but there was a melody that rose and fell and went on as long as his lungs could hold out. He sang himself to sleep, careful to lay on the side without a welt. His last thought before sleeping was that he’d gotten enough money for dad to keep him drunk for a few more weeks at least before he had to preform again.


End file.
